The Horde King of Shadow (Hordes of the Elthika #1)

Chapter 22

KLARA

“This is a jest, surely,” I said quietly under my breath, seeing the small group assembled just inside what Sarkin called the landing field.

It was the field to the west of the village, the same one we’d left yesterday for our ceremony at Lishara’s temple. Only now there was only a single Elthika in the field, sleek with scales of shimmering blue.

A familiar male was standing in front of a group of young adults. No older than eighteen or nineteen. Hell, one of them appeared to be a teenager.

“You will learn with them,” Sarkin informed me, his arm brushing my shoulder when we stopped on the outskirts of the fence. “ Lysi? ”

He was using my own language to try to charm me?

I wasn’t in the mood. Thanks to the wine from last night’s celebration and my poor decision to continue drinking it with each new opponent, my head was throbbing, my jaw tight.

The rest of my body wasn’t faring so well either. While the majority of the rider burn between my thighs was healing—I could at least walk without feeling like the skin was chafing and raw—I was acutely aware of new aches, courtesy of Sarkin and the blessing that his dragon goddess had bestowed upon us.

In my bath this morning, I’d uncovered bruises from his fingertips, tender red marks where he’d nibbled and sucked, and a sharp ache between my thighs whenever I moved a certain way.

And now…it was my first official day of Elthika riding training.

“I’ll be training with children?” I asked softly, eyeing the group, eleven in total.

“Yes, and you have some catching up to do,” Sarkin informed me unhelpfully, making my head pound even further. “They’ve already been in training for five weeks.”

I shot him a look. I had the distinct impression that Sarkin enjoyed poking at me when I was so obviously grumpy.

“I trust that you’ll handle it,” he told me. “I have to fly north today.”

“Why?” I asked. I had noticed he was in his riding leathers, but since I knew very little about his daily life—or that of the Karag in general—I hadn’t thought much of it.

“Patrol” was all Sarkin said. When I waited, he added, “There was an Elthikan stronghold along the northern coast of the Arsadia. We received word from another Karath that they appear to have left.”

“You want to investigate why,” I guessed.

He inclined his head.

“Does it have to do with the heartstones?” I wondered.

“Perhaps,” he said. “There are so few now. The heartstone’s energy is like the sun to them. They need it. They will instinctively seek out wherever they feel their energy. At least the remnants of it. That’s why we saw that Elthikan horde by Lishara’s temple yesterday. They are new to the territory. And whenever hordes start encroaching…well, Elthika are notoriously territorial and will defend their land if necessary. The Karaths fear another Elthikan war with so many dragon hordes living closer and closer to one another.”

Again I was reminded that there was so much to learn. My gaze went to the familiar male, standing tall in front of the group of young riders, his hands clasped behind his back. Last night I’d seen him speaking with Sarkin when I’d been talking with Sammenth and Ryena. That was why he’d looked so familiar.

Was he to be my instructor? If so, perhaps I could begin my Elthikan education with him, one I desperately needed, as long as he wouldn’t mind my endless questions.

“I didn’t realize that there were territory disputes and politics among the Elthika themselves,” I said. How would I be able to cram in a lifetime of education as quickly as possible?

To anyone else, it might’ve seemed daunting. To me, it was a worthy challenge. I felt a spark of determination light up my chest. Part of my reason for coming here was to learn . To understand the Karag and the Elthika. They were one in the same…but also apart. The Karag didn’t own and care for the Elthika. Not like the Dakkari hordes with their pyrokis . There was a very special and careful relationship between them. And I was beginning to realize that the Elthika were a race all their own, one that worked in tandem with the Karag, not for .

Given what I knew, I could understand why the Karag revered and respected them. Why they spoke of them in such a particular way. There was a healthy mixture of understanding and fear. Because if you feared something, you respected it. Sarkin had alluded to that once.

“Go,” Sarkin urged, pressing his hand to my low back, the heat seeping into the stiff material, and giving me a nudge. “I’ll be back after nightfall.”

It was just after dawn, the Arsadia encampment quiet behind us, especially after the celebration last night.

“Be safe,” I told him, giving a small smile. His eyes flicked to mine. “We’re doing all right at this friend thing, don’t you think?”

It was meant to lighten the mood between us, which still felt a little stilted and strange.

But the moment I said the words, I thought of us at Lishara’s temple, flashes of sensations—pleasurable and intense—returning to me.

What was worse was that I could see Sarkin thinking the same things, remembering the same things.

I cleared my throat, cheeks going warm, and Sarkin let out a growl—one I had the impression he hadn’t meant to make—before taking a step away.

Last night, though he’d slept on the floor with me, in the bed of furs still haphazardly slung onto the ground, with our ankles tied together again, we’d both made an effort to stay as far away from each other as possible.

“I’ll return tonight” was all he replied, and I couldn’t help my sigh when he finally turned away.

There was a group of riders that had assembled—Sarkin’s main wing—down the pathway. Levanth was among them, and I felt my throat go a little tight, blinking when I saw her smile at him in greeting.

She said something to him I couldn’t make out, and I heard his responding chuckle. Jealousy burned in my belly, discomforting but real. I hadn’t expected it to bother me so much. He was my husband now—we were bonded together in his culture and mine.

So why did it bother me that another female—one I knew he’d had a romantic history with—could make him laugh and smile?

You’re being ridiculous, I thought, shaking myself, and I resolutely turned around. Of course she would make him happy. They were old friends and riding partners. I was just a stranger he’d made his queen.

“Ah, Sorrina ,” came the voice. I looked up, giving the group of riders and my instructor an uncertain smile as I stepped toward them. Their faces were so serious. One, a girl with stern lips, even looked me up and down, as if sizing me up for competition. “The Karath told me you would begin instruction today.”

“You can call me Klara,” I said, joining the group, realizing that even though they were over a decade younger than me, most still towered over me.

The male shook his head. “I will call you Acolyte, for that is what you are now.”

I nearly gulped.

“You may call me Kyavor,” he said. “I’ll be your riding instructor. Now, fall in line with the rest of the acolytes.”

I swallowed down the sudden knot of nerves in my throat, suddenly apprehensive about what the day would bring.

“Yes, Kyavor.”

By nightfall, it hurt to even move and Ryena was patiently and courteously listening to my whining as she mixed together more salve. Sammenth, on the other hand, was trying to stifle her laughter.

“And then the look she gives me,” I said, my eyes wide, a soft chuckle filling Ryena’s home, which she shared with her sister when she was in the Arsadia. “You’d think I’d committed a grave atrocity against her.”

“Vyaria is a blood-born rider,” Sammenth informed me behind her sly smirk. “She’ll be harsh, even to you. During rider training, rank doesn’t matter. You’re all equal. It’ll be her one and only chance to chastise her queen, and she likely knows it.”

“I noticed she doesn’t have a tail,” I said quietly. “The majority of them don’t.”

“Most are blood borns. It’s the easiest way into rider instruction, especially with Kyavor. He’s one of the greats. Even the Karath from the North will send his acolytes to be trained by Kyavor some years, if they show any great potential.”

Vyaria, the blood-born rider, had nearly sent me scurrying from the training grounds in shame that afternoon. I’d been partnered with her to do practice mounts. Kyavor had placed an Elthika harness—with no extra padding—on a boulder in the very center of the river. Off of a ledge that jutted out near the stone, we were expected to jump onto the saddle and secure ourselves into place.

With the rushing river, it was our partner’s job to ensure that we didn’t get caught up in the current if we missed the mount. One time, I swore that Vyaria had been debating whether to throw me the tether to save me before I’d tumbled over the waterfall’s edge. Only at the very last moment had she thrown me the braided leather.

“Well, this blood-born rider wants to kill me,” I deadpanned.

“Ahh, I miss the afternoons of river mounts,” Sammenth said, her tone wistful. “When you’ve barely enough strength to hold on to the harness, much less fight the current. One of the acolytes during my year went over the falls. They don’t put the net out yet to catch the riders. He was unconscious for the rest of the day.”

I nearly shuddered, remembering my fall off the cliffside in Sarroth. If I thought I’d been tired after riding Zaridan for nearly three days straight, I’d been sorely mistaken. My limbs felt like jelly. I was scared to stand up in case my knees gave out.

And tomorrow! Gods, how would I ever survive?

“Finished,” Ryena announced, spooning the last of the fresh salve into the jar for me, the reason why I’d come in the first place.

“ Kakkira vor, ” I murmured. “Thank you.”

“I’ll have more ready for you tomorrow,” she promised, patting my shoulder. “Try to stay alive until then. Or at the very least, try not to let a little acolyte murder you.”

“She wouldn’t murder me,” I said. At least I didn’t truly believe so.

“She just wouldn’t save you if she could,” Sammenth cackled, snickering. “On Muron’s strength, I don’t miss rider training.”

“You’re still in rider training,” Ryena pointed out.

“I meant I don’t miss the training before I bonded with my Elthika,” Sammenth amended. She looked at me. “It gets better, I promise. During training, all riders are equals, including the blood borns who come from a long line of riders. No favor is given. The instructors don’t make it easy—they don’t believe in that. Hardship creates mental fortitude, discipline, and willpower. All are necessary to bond with an Elthika, and all are necessary to become a rider for the horde.”

“And bonding…how does it happen?” I asked, sliding my elbows onto the table.

“At the end of the season,” Sammenth said, nodding at her sister when the healer brought her a cup of steeped tea, “the riders who are of age are taken to the Tharken cliffs.”

“Of age?”

“Yes, eighteen years and above. You can be in rider instruction as young as twelve though, you just can’t participate in the illa’rosh .”

“At Tharken?”

Samment nodded. “It’s a mountain range, northwest of here, where unclaimed Elthika gather during the silver moon. You’re given the opportunity to bond with an Elthika of your choosing, but they must choose you too. That happens during the first flight. You have to claim an Elthika—without a harness, mind you—and if they accept you, they won’t throw you off their backs so that you plummet to your death. It’s called the illa’rosh .”

My chest squeezed. My first thought was that Sarkin—or Zaridan—wouldn’t let me be thrown off and fall…but I wasn’t so sure. In order to fully be accepted as queen of the Sarrothian, I had to bond with an Elthika. If I was rejected during the first flight…that would make me the queen of nothing. I would lose the respect of Sarkin’s people.

I would lose his if I had it at all.

“How many have been rejected?” I asked, not entirely sure I wanted to know the answer.

Sammenth shared a look with Ryena. The healer set a cup down in front of me, steam curling from the top. She’d told me the tea would help with muscle aches, to help with the pain that would undoubtedly come tomorrow.

“Plenty,” Ryena said. She shook her head, a shiver working its way up her spine. “When Sammenth wanted to be a rider…I swear, I couldn’t sleep for years until she bonded with Orelle.”

Orelle must’ve been Sammenth’s Elthika.

“The Karath ’s best friend, when they were younger, was rejected during his first flight,” Sammenth said quietly. “Sarkin had to watch him fall. That, I imagine, is worse.”

“What?” I whispered, shock rooting me into place on the bench.

“That’s not our place to talk about,” Ryena said sharply to her younger sister.

Sammenth breathed in deeply, flashing me a small, apologetic smile. “No one in my kya’rassa was rejected.” I remembered that word. Sarkin had used it once. It meant rider horde , though he’d used it to refer to his best riders, the ones he’d chosen, the ones he trusted to keep the entire horde safe. “It happens less than you think. The Elthika are choosy about their riders, but only a few rejections end in a death fall. Most will return the rider to steady ground. The Vyrin…those are the ones you need to be careful of if you select one.”

“The Vyrin?”

“It’s a name for the ancients, though they aren’t truly old—not in years at least. They are high-ranking Elthika from strong bloodlines. Zaridan is a Vyrin, for example. Vyrins can afford to be very particular about their chosen rider. They’re the ones that are dangerous during a first flight.”

“And…Sarkin’s friend,” I began, “he tried to bond with a Vyrin?”

“Not only a Vyrin. With a direct descendent of Muron,” Sammenth answered.

A jolt went through me. “But Zaridan…”

“Yes,” she replied, inclining her head at me. “He tried to claim her brother.”

“Zaridan’s brother killed Sarkin’s friend?”

Sammenth’s quiet was answer enough, and my brow furrowed, lowering my gaze to the steaming tea.

I took a small sip, the taste bitter, though Ryena had tried to sweeten it with a thick syrup that reminded me of kinu berries.

“How tragic,” I said softly.

“The Karath understands that these things happen. You cannot control an Elthika, just like they cannot control the Karag,” Sammenth answered. “What happened to his friend was tragic but not surprising.”

“And it never should’ve happened in the first place,” Ryena cut in, giving Sammenth a long, lingering, stern look. “Enough now. Drink your tea. Both of you.”

“Yes, Mother,” Sammenth grumbled, but I caught the stray flash of her smile. It was obvious the sisters were close, though Ryena did take on a more parental figure between the two.

I thought of Dannik, a stab of longing to see him, speak with him going through me. I wanted to tell him not to worry. I wondered if such a message was even possible. I wondered about Sora, thinking how I wished our last interaction hadn’t been so tense.

Then I wondered about Sarkin, thinking over the new tiny bit of information I’d gleaned tonight. I couldn’t imagine how helpless I would feel watching someone I cared about falling to their death.

I remembered the look in his eyes that night when I’d fallen over the cliff at his keep in Sarroth. I remembered how he’d dived straight off, without hesitation, to save me.

Every night, he firmly tugged the strap that connected our ankles, like he needed the extra assurance it was tight.

Now I couldn’t help but wonder if he was remembering his friend while he was trying to protect me. The only place I could fall off here was the waterfall, and I’d have to navigate the village carefully to find it. We couldn’t stay tethered in sleep forever.

Under Ryena’s watchful gaze, I took another dutiful sip of my tea.

And I realized that in addition to the Karag, to the Elthika, of which I knew very little about, I could add my husband to that growing list as well.